Adventures at Titan High
by Kuroi Inanis
Summary: A day in the life of Eren and friends at school. Expect Eren to battle unknown plastic snow demons, endure French class with Professor Rivalle, and unintentionally fuck up Jean's pathetic attempt at a love confession. Rated T for language and sexual humor. Crack!fic. Based off of Vandetta Cosplay's newest video. Please go to their YouTube and view it. Used with permission.
1. I'm gonna ride you SO HARD!

**Adventures at Titan High**

**A Shingeki no Kyojin fanfiction**

**Based on the short film by Vandetta Cosplay Group**

Usual disclaimer information: I don't own SNK/Attack on Titan, in whole or in part. Don't sue me, I don't have any money anyway. The original plot and 99.9% of the dialogue is credited to Vandetta Cosplay Group. The only 0.01% is creative liberty. Used with permission.

A.N.: I do not usually write humorous fanfictions, as I tend to have a much easier time expressing myself through drama/angst/tragedy/etc. This genre is new for me, so I'm hoping this story will represent Vandetta's video as well as 'Whiskey Lullaby' did. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please don't be an ass about it.

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><p>Chapter One: "I'm gonna ride you <em>so hard<em>!"

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><p>It had snowed at some point in the night. There had been the threat of snowfall for weeks now, but much the same as the stripper instills false hope in the heads of her customers, the sky had teased mercilessly without bothering to actually put out. It was only while the world slept beneath her that she finally relented, releasing the load she had stubbornly sat on so that everyone woke up to a cold, wet, slippery mess.<p>

… _damn_, that was good. I could be a poet. Well, maybe not a poet. But definitely a writer. An erotic novel writer.

Despite the snowfall of nearly two feet, no one seems to find it suiting that school closes today. I did the best I could to beg and plead with my mother to allow me to stay inside where it was warm, under the covers and away from the threat of frostbitten fingers and toes. She had turned a deaf ear to my pleas and practically ejected me out of the house by the seat of my pants, and her smile had clearly told me that if she received another phone call from Professor however-you-say-his-name about my conduct in class, death by frostbite would be the least of my concerns.

I suppose this is the part where I should introduce myself. Hi! I'm Eren Yeager. I'm fifteen years old, and I go to Titan High with my friends. Today, just like every other day, I meet up with them at the edge of school campus, and we all walk towards building 9B like prisoners being marched towards their last meal before meeting with the _peloton d'exécution_. That's French for firing squad, in case you didn't know.

Ok, before I continue, I should clarify that these aren't _all_ my friends! I have, like, two more! Their names are Connie and Mikasa, but Mikasa is sick and Connie doesn't have French class. Lucky him.

Oh, did I say that we're on our way to French class? Yeah, okay, we are! At the head of our group is my BFF, Armin. He is _really_ smart and a good comrade in battle (you can't hear it, but I just did the _best_ Russian accent _ever_ in my head).He's got this, um… fixation though. For the past three years, he's been trying to get his OTP consists of Jean here, who is this horse-faced prick strutting around with Miley Cyrus' newest Wrecking Ball of a single blasting from his headphones. And can we talk about that God-awful dye job on his head, while we're at it? After all, what kind of professional would so royally fuck up such an easy job? It starts out this strange shade of strawberry blond, but then it tapers down into this dark brown that looks like whoever was working on it ran out of product and couldn't be fucked to get more. He says it's professionally done and looks amazing, but he's the only one who believes that story. Jean's an asshole, by the way, trying to act all cool, but everyone can tell he's totally in love with Marco. The boy with the freckles, walking next to Armin, is Marco. He's nice, but oblivious. Everyone can see that Jean has a thing for Marco.

Well, everyone except for Marco, anyway.

But getting back on track…

Last, but not least, the girl walking next to Asshole is Sasha. She's… um… uh… you know, it's kind of hard to describe Sasha when I'm watching her look down into the top of her sweater and smile like that. She looks like she's either checking out her own boobs or making sure whatever secret she's concealing under that knitted green top is still there waiting for her. It's actually a little creepy. If I didn't know any better, I would say I just saw something _glowing_ in there.

Knowing Sasha, it's probably got something to do with food. That girl could eat an entire family of football players out of house and home.

… she's nice. Sasha is nice. And that's… whatever she's doing, it's not what it looks like.

So! To recap… you've met Armin, Asshole, Marco, and Sasha. So, as I was saying, yeah, she…

… she…

There is a flash of blue in the corner of my eye, and I instinctively turn my head to see what's caught my attention. Sticking up out of the snow, a dark splotch on the untouched virgin snow, is what appears to be a sphere made of durable plastic. As my gaze settles on it fully, it's as though the heavens open and the Angels themselves begin to sing to me. They call my name, their voices like those of the sirens that enticed the sailors to crash their boats on the rocks in Greek mythology (for the record, I only know that because Armin helped me study for our Mythology final). The beautiful melody surrounds me, coiling unseen fingers around my body and enticing me to move closer. _Ride me, Eren… take me in your arms and ride me so, so hard… _

… whoooaaa…

"E-Eren? Eren, are you coming? … Eren?"

In an instant, the song of the angels suddenly turns dark and sinister. It is now the howling of demons I hear echoing in my head. The true nature of the beast comes out, grinning at me sadistically. I still have no idea what this thing actually is, but it's clearly telling me, "you can't take me on, because you have to go to French class and spend your day with _Professor Rivalle_…". The serene blue turns blood red before my eyes, and I feel myself swallow heavily as my gaze narrow and my fist clenches at my side. Whatever this _thing_ is, I _will _dominate it.

"… I'm gonna ride you _so hard_…" I whisper, and it's a promise I intend to keep.

Armin glances over at Marco just as I turn to look at them once more. Marco simply shrugs his shoulders. Quite clearly, neither of them understands the unspoken challenge that has been placed before me.

"… okay…" Armin mutters, "we'll head to class without you, then."

Shit. If I'm late, Professor whatever-his-name-is will _slaughter _me. I glance back at my mortal enemy once more and then trot through the snow to catch up with my friends. Oh, it was _on._ As soon as French class was over, I was going to _own_ that thing.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	2. Professor Ravioli

**Adventures at Titan High**

**A Shingeki no Kyojin fanfiction**

**Based on the short film by Vandetta Cosplay Group**

Usual disclaimer information: I don't own SNK/Attack on Titan, in whole or in part. Don't sue me, I don't have any money anyway. The original plot and 99.9% of the dialogue is credited to Vandetta Cosplay Group. The only 0.01% is creative liberty. Used with permission.

A.N.: I do not usually write humorous fanfictions, as I tend to have a much easier time expressing myself through drama/angst/tragedy/etc. This genre is new for me, so I'm hoping this story will represent Vandetta's video as well as 'Whiskey Lullaby' did. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please don't be an ass about it.

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><p>Chapter Two: Professor Ravioli<p>

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><p>Have you ever met someone who just… just <em>owns <em>it? You can't really describe exactly _what_ it is they own, because it seems as though they own _everything. _Eve. Ry. Thing.

If you haven't, then you've obviously never come into contact with my French professor. For someone who tops out at a whopping 5 foot 2 inches (and that might be giving him too much credit), he is one motherfucker who _owns_ it. He has this kind of… presence… about him that demands you pay attention to him. Without actually looking him directly in the face, because I'm pretty sure anyone who does will have their soul stolen.

Someone like that could own me anytime he wanted to.

Wait, where was I going with this?

Oh, yeah. My French teacher.

By now, you think I would have learned to listen for the sound of Professor… what's-his-name… coming down the back stairs towards our classroom. I see this man five days out of seven, and yet he always catches me off-guard. I've never personally witnessed him descending the stairs, but something just tells me that the sight could bring a grown man to his knees. If not a grown man, then definitely a hormonal teenage boy. He should have his own theme music. Hell, for all I know, he _does_ have his own theme music. It would be something dark and angry sounding, with a heavy beat, and he would come down those stairs with his head held high and his expression forever stuck in that disapproving scowl he has. That sexy, disapproving scowl. He would round the corner to our classroom like a fucking boss.

But I wouldn't actually know, and I probably never will. I try not to get in his way as much as possible.

As usual, I am completely oblivious to his existence until he slams the door, bringing the classroom from chaos to terror-induced silence in approximately two seconds flat. I think I might have heard Armin scream in shock and drop his pencil, but I was too busy trying not to wet myself out of fear to pay much attention.

I don't even have to _see_ him to know he's staring at the back of my head. This man is none other than Professor Rivalle. He's the French teacher.

… reev-eye… um… rih-viye… ravioli… I'm not even sure how to pronounce his name, come to think of it…

I shrink down in my seat and attempt to make myself as small as is humanly possible. Maybe he'll think I'm sick, or someone else, or he may just not notice me.

The hand that lands on the back of my skull and sends my forehead down against my desk tells me that, yet again, my attempts at making myself completely invisible to him have failed. So, putting the pronunciation of his name aside, all you really need to know is that he hates my guts. I know, I know… break a man's legs and ruin his marriage _once_, and suddenly _you're _the bad guy and deserve all of his punishments 24/7!

He glares at me as he drops his book on his desk and takes his seat, crossing one leg over the other and linking his arms together over his chest. That look is a weighted one, and I doesn't have to speak for me to understand the message he's sending me. _None of your shit today, Jaeger. _I sigh and turn my head to gaze out the window, propping my chin up on my hand. You know, sometimes, I wish I could just… flee this classroom and… oh, ride that thing I saw this morning! I – I'm not even sure what it's called, but I love it so much! Just… just _look _at me out there… gliding through the powdery snow, my hands gripping tightly to that wonderful plastic sphere, the wind blowing through my hair. I can feel the cold bite of a winter day against my cheeks, I can smell the crisp, clean air… wow, how am I doing that? I… I thought I was in the classroom, but I'm… outside… is this a dream?

_Is this the real life…_

A ruler slams down on my desk, the tip smacking soundly against my hand, and I jump and immediately turn my head up to see Professor Rivalle staring down at me, his gray eyes resembling the deadly calm before a raging storm. If he wants my attention, all he has to do is ask for it. Sometimes I wonder if he's flirting with me, and if so, why he has to do it in such a roundabout way.

Oh shit, I looked him in the face! Abort mission, abort mission!

Before I can drop my head he turns away from me, making a beeline for the window as he opens his mouth and speaks in that authoritative, monotone, somehow oh-so-sexy voice of his.

"Students will be paying attention in my class at all times. I expect you to be able to follow that one simple rule, Jaeger. Can you do that?"

He gaze turns back to me as he pulls the blind down, effectively cutting us off from the rest of the world. I drop my gaze to the floor as he returns to his desk, looking over his notes for the day. Once he's no longer looking at me, I dare to send a death glare straight into the back of his head, drumming my fingertips on my desk. The last thing I need is another phone call home to my mother, so I suppose I better make sure I don't do anything to piss him off further.

A ball of paper makes contact with the top of my head and bounces off, landing next to my hand on my desk. I glance over to my left, where Jean sits crumpling up pieces of paper and attempting to toss them across the classroom. Oh, I forgot to tell you… Jean is desperately trying to confess his undying love for Marco by throwing notes at him in class. Too bad he has such terrible aim. He tries at least ten more times to toss his notes at his crush, and nine of them manage to land on or near my desk.

His aim is really just… awful. It's okay though, because Armin tries to help sometimes. Like now, when one of Jean's notes lands on his desk, he's kind enough to pick it up and try and toss it to Marco himself. Given the fact that their desks are right next to each other, he should be able to get the note to its intended recipient.

A moment later it comes flying back at me instead, and I sigh softly and turn away. Like I said. He _tries_.

Sado-teacher has apparently decided on what he's going to teach us today, because he turns away from the class and picks up a dry erase marker, uncapping it and writing the word 'REQUIN' on the board in all capital letters. I can't be entirely sure, but I think it means 'shark'. Either way, he caps the marker and turns to all of us, tapping the end against the board.

"These… are dangerous."

A white UFO flies across the room and bounces off his head, and as much as I'd like to enjoy the impending punishment that is about to befall Jean, I'm pretty sure Professor Rivalle would punish me by proxy just because I took enjoyment from someone else's suffering. So I entertain myself by tipping my head back and balancing my pencil on my upper lip like it's some kind of wooden mustache. Wait for it, wait for it… any moment now, and Jean's ass is going to be grass…

"Passing notes in class are we… Eren?"

… huh?

"Wait… wait, what?!"

"Yes, I believe you passed a note…"

Oh, shit. Oh God, _no._ How could he possibly think that was _me_?!

"I-I-I-I didn't pass any notes, Sir."

"This says your name here."

Is he fucking _kidding me_ right now?!

"Sir, I can assure you I did not pass any notes, it's Jean who's passing notes at people for some reason," I reply, glancing over at Jean and gritting my teeth as I speak, "he's still doing it Sir, I'm quite sure he's still passing notes at people."

And he is. That horse-faced, sneaky little bastard is _still fucking throwing notes_ across the room! And he just dropped one on my desk with his hand! How is it that Professor Rivalle doesn't see that? I mean he's short, but he's not _that_ short! And Jean's sitting _right next to me_! You'd have to be _blind_ to not see what's going on! In a desperate attempt to get my point across, I grab one of the many notes on my desk and unwrap it, holding it out for him to see.

"Y-you can clearly see Jean passing notes, you can read his name, it's not my notes, it's his, it says 'Jean' on every single one, 'Jean', still Jean, throwing notes, JEAN!"

Professor Rivalle shoots me a look that clearly tells me he doesn't believe me as his hands work to open the note clutched in his own hands.

"Well, let's read and see… 'Eren, your freckles are like spots on your face, you're pretty tall, please go out with me. Sincerest, Eren'."

… that didn't even make logical sense! Why in the Hell would I write a love note to myself and then toss it to myself?! If I was going to write a love note and bounce it off his head to get his attention, I would at least be intelligent enough to put my name at the top and _his _name at the bottom. And I sure the Hell wouldn't call him 'pretty tall'. At this point, he's just reaching for fucking straws.

"I-I-"

"No lies in class, Jaeger."

"But, I –"

He gives me a warning glare and I huff, slamming my hands on the desk and then crossing my arms over my chest in true pouting fashion. The sound of snickering from my immediately left catches my attention and I glance over, seeing Jean sitting in his chair facing me. He's got the biggest fucking grin I've never wanted to see plastered on his face, and as soon as our eyes meet, he wiggles his brows at me in that way that clearly says _busted for my actions __**again**__? He must __**really**__ hate you._

This actually happens a lot. And it usually ends up the same way. As soon as last bell rings we'll be up and out the door, and we'll tolerate each other for perhaps ten seconds before one of us (and by one of us, I mean Jean) will say something to provoke the other and we'll find ourselves on the ground, in the snow, throwing punches and screaming obscenities at each other. I myself prefer to call him a motherfucking horse-faced bastard, because if the shoe fits then one should feel free to lace that bitch up and wear it, but I have a barrage of insults set aside especially for when this asshole gets me in trouble for things that I clearly didn't do.

I make a mental note to kick Jean's ass after I'm done conquering that thing I saw this morning, then tear my eyes away from his and force them to focus on my French book instead. Studying is the last thing I want to do, but I'm clearly already on Professor Rivalle's shit list, and if I stay quiet and look like I actually care about my schoolwork, maybe he'll leave me alone for the rest of the day and I can get out of here in one piece.

For a while, my strategy actually works. Everyone works quietly on their assignment (except for Jean, who I can see doodling hearts and testing out last name changes on his paper out of the corner of my eye), and Professor seems content enough with our performance to direct his attention to his own book. The sound of pencils and pens scratching across paper fills the room, and the ticking of the clock slowly counts down our remaining minutes in Hell.

A crunching noise catching my attention, off to my right and slightly behind me. It is followed by what sounds like the rustling of a bag, and I glance back to identify what this interruption might be and if it could potentially be blamed on me by Professor Psycho up there.

Sasha has slipped her right arm out of the sleeve of her green sweater and is currently shoving a potato chip into her mouth. Her hand disappears a moment later and I can see it shifting around under her knit top, moving steadily south until it apparently encounters what it is looking for. There is the rustling of a bag, and then her hand reappears to feed her mouth another chip. Ladies and gentlemen, we've solved the mystery of whatever the Hell was glowing under her top – a bag of potato chips. Not the most exciting thing in the world, and I'm not sure how she managed to find a bag of chips that _glowed_, but the point I'm trying to make is that she wasn't checking out her own boobs and she wasn't smuggling uranium to school, so that's all that matters.

… told ya.

I turn back to my work, finally confident that this day is going to end without any further altercations between Professor Rivalle and myself. I'll get my work done, play in the snow, and go home to a peacefully evening free of my mother's usual –

The sound of a potato chip hitting the floor is like a thunderclap in the silence, and it immediately pulls me out of my own thoughts. My eyes widen and I slowly turn to look at Sasha, whose face is contorted in what I can only describe as devastation blended with horror. All around me I can feel my friends staring at Sasha as well, the delicate balance of the classroom shattered by her abhorrent mistake. My eyes dart briefly up to the front of the room, where I can already see that the noise has grabbed Professor Rivalle's attention. As one, we all subconsciously lean away from Sasha, undoubtedly thinking the same thing in tandem; _she is __**so**__dead, and I don't want to go home with bits of Sasha splattered all over my nice, clean clothing. _

Oh God, he's getting up. He's picking up that beating stick he calls a ruler, and he's _getting up_. In some form of frozen terror we all watch as he crosses the room and stops at her desk, leaning down to extract the chip from where it's landed next to her feet. Sasha stared straight ahead, failing miserably at attempting to keep her face completely deadpanned. I'm pretty sure that by now she would be out of that chair and on her way to the door, if it wasn't for the fact that we all know that running from Professor Rivalle is pointless. It would be like running from a bear – anger-provoking and adding an element of sport to the slaughter.

He inspects the chip as though it's diseased with malaria, and given his standard of cleanliness, it might very well be. After a moment of close inspection, he lets it roll into the palm of his hand and then crushes it with his fingers. Sasha winces and the rest of us jump in our, and we are unable to take our eyes from him as he circles around the back of her desk with slow, measured steps. Sasha swallows heavily and slips another potato chip into her mouth, crunching it loudly between her teeth. It isn't the most suiting of last meals, but it will do given the –

"Jaeger?"

_Oh come the fuck on now!_

I can't even get so far as to say 'what' before he's interrupting me, uncurling his fingers and brushing the crumbs from the crushed chip all over my desk.

"What is this?"

I struggle for words, completely flabbergasted that he's once again pegged this as being _my fault_.

"Sir, you can't… you can't honestly think that –"

"As you may know, I don't accept any disobedience in my class."

Mother. Fucker. God damn stupid fucking sadistic bastard! Now I _know_ he's putting this on me out of spite. Sasha's bag of potato chips has relocated to her lap, outside of the confines of her sweater, and I can see her smiling in relief out of the corner of my eye as she contentedly munches away on her snack. He'd have to be blind _and_ deaf to not see who the culprit is, but that apparently won't stop him from picking on me. As he turns away from me and heads back up to the front of the room, I roll my eyes and throw my hands up in defeat before slamming them down on the desk, my head following a moment later. How is it possible that someone who's that hot can also be such a douche canoe?

"_Any _disrespect, and you _will_ end up as Professor Hanji did."

I shudder at the thought of being put outside in the cold, shovel in hand, forced to clear the pathways of our extensive school campus. None of us are entirely sure what she did to piss Professor Rivalle off as badly as she had, though we were all fairly sure it had something to do with his personal space. Or his cleaning supplies. Or maybe both. Either way, she had been doing bitch work for him for weeks now, and we had all caught a glimpse of her shoveling snow like a thing possessed while on our way to our classroom. She had looked completely exhausted and half-frozen despite her warm winter jacket and boots, and I was pretty sure I had witnessed her collapse atop the massive mound of snow she had accumulated over the time she had been slaving away.

"Understood?"

He's looking at me. My head is still down on the desk, but I know he's fucking looking at me. I can still hear Sasha munching away on her chips, even over the sound of Marco's chair squeaking as he twirls himself around and around in circles. I can hear Armin humming some pop song under his breath behind me, which he only does when he's twirling his thick blond hair into braids. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Jean sitting backwards in his chair, leaned up against his desk with his feet propped up on Mikasa's unoccupied one. Every single one of them is quite clearly showing him absolutely no respect, but that doesn't matter. Because he's honed in on me, and that's all he's going to see. Like a _requin_ following a trail of blood, he's officially blind to everyone else's flaws but mine. And everyone else here knows it, too.

Fuck. My. Life.

"Jaeger?"

Oh Hell, what does he want now? I lift my head and glance up at him listlessly, showing him with my silence that I don't have the energy to fight with him anymore today. You win, Professor Sadist. Well played.

"Sit up straight."

Really?

I drop my head back down on the desk and groan loudly in frustration. If it bothers him, he doesn't say anything to me. Or, rather, if he was going to say anything, the sound of the bell ringing effectively cuts him off. Oh, thank God. I thought this day was never going to end.

I'm stuffing my book into my backpack before he can even turn around to the board to erase his impeccably neat handwriting, only half-listening to what he's say. Blah blah blah, something about reading pages thirty to thirty five before tomorrow, yada yada don't give a shit…

"And Yaeger?"

"Yeah?"

"The whole book."

What a dick. I grunt out some kind of reply, but at this point I'm so focused on the idea of getting the Hell out of here and back out into the snow that it doesn't have the same spirit it would usually have. On any other day, I would probably put up more of a fight, but not today. Today, I had more pressing matters to attend to.

Domination. I had domination to attend to. It was me versus that… thing. Eren versus the blue plastic sphere. I had a ride scheduled, and there was no way in Hell I was going to miss it.

Maybe I could steal Jean's MP3 player. Payback's a bitch, and I need some theme music for my conquest. Most of his music is shit, but he's got to have _something_ decent on that thing.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and slipped out of the room without looking back.

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><p>TBC<p>

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><p>A.N. This has become far more crack-ish than I intended for it to. My deepest apologies.<p> 


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